Spitfire on Sicily
by hawthorneash13
Summary: "We aren't in the mafia; we are the Italian Mafia."The Italia brothers are infamous in the mob world for their connections,their ruthlessness. they live in the real world under the cover of businessmen(legal)until their 'coworkers' crash a meeting. They are exposed as the Italian Mob; through different events, everyone will see how far they are willing to go for their goal.Human!AU
1. Chapter 1

Italy was under the control of the mafia. They controlled what came in, what went out, and how the government handled it. There were members in every police department and anything of that sort. Of course, this rise in crime had an effect on the Vargas family. They had slowly become more paranoid, especially Romano, as they were sucked into the mafia by their grandfather, Romulus. Not that their friends and coworkers had noticed; the Italia brothers could hide their nerves better than before, having been trained since their late teens in the mob. But the smoke screen they had placed around themselves had shattered at a meeting. They wore pinstripe black suits, sleek fedora's and weapons hidden under their jackets. Romano was hiding his face under his hat, sleeping, while Feliciano was faking his innocent rant and clinging to Ludwig. Yao was up, talking about finances and that he needed everyone that represented their businesses to start paying their debt to his oil company when the door to the room was blown off its hinges. Romano immediately sat up, not at all surprised at the explosion. Antonio tried to go protect his 'close friend', but he and Feli were already standing. Through the dust and smoke, Ludwig and Antonio were trying to get them out, confused by their lack of cowardess. Three men stepped out of the dust; the middle one was short and thin; short black hair blowing lazily in the warm draft that swept in from the outside. He held no weapon, but on both sides of his waist he had Colt M1911. On his left was a tall man with orange hair and an obvious Scottish descent, a blue shirt rolled up to his elbows, who was holding a Thompson 1928, also known as the Tommy gun, and was smoking a cigar. The one of his right had a pompous air about him; like he could get anybody to 'love' him. He had long blonde hair under a white fedora and a white suit underneath. He held a MP40, a long stocky body with a elongated magazine clip and a pointed muzzle, a two handed rifle. In his hip holster he had a Mauser C96, a German semi-automatic. Both men with two hand guns had them pointed threateningly at the CEO's; or those with a position as important as that.

"Hands up, behind your head. Empty your pockets and leave all weapons on the center of the table." The middle man ordered calmly. He had a light Japanese accent, and his eyes were bored; watching everyone comply; besides our Italian duo, though. The brothers knew their cover was blown, so they just stood there, hands in their pockets, as they waited for their business partners in Asian and European affairs to slowly notice them. The Frenchmen, Francis Bonnefoy, noticed their faces first. He grinned, pointing the nose of the gun down and rushed the Italians. Ludwig and Antonio watched in fear as Francis approached, but they didn't see neither Feli's grin nor Romano's less p***ed off face. Francis enveloped both in a tight hug, laughing at them. Romano rolled his eyes as Francis alerted the others to their presence

"Ah! Mon ami's! I found the Italia brothers!" He laughed, walking back toward the two men. The Scottish man, Allister, grunted at them,

"You've haven't been at the meetings lately. Have the rookies gotten whiny? You know what we do to those." He growled, but seemed to laugh despite this. Feliciano and Romano made eye contact, shrugged, and laughed along with them. They could feel everyone's eyes boring into them with confusion and fear.

"Please, Allister, continue to give out private information in front of people who could identify us to the police." Kiku said, slightly irritated. Feli placed a hand on his shoulder,

"Don't worry about the police; the chief is ours." He said heartily. They leaned against the wall as the proceedings went from there. Francis and Allister went through the wallets, taking the money, but looking for a particular item. Feli and Lovi were avoiding the gazes sent from Antonio and Ludwig; they had broken a rule of theirs, see; don't make emotional connections with someone. Period.

"Feliciano, you're in the mafia?" Ludwig asked, voice shaking. Feli steeled himself; he couldn't have weakness show in front of fellow mob members, no matter how buddy-buddy they acted. He knew they would just as soon put a bullet through his head or his brothers. In reply, Feli raised his gun from his holster and shot the wall next to Ludwig, glaring at him coldly. He placed the gun back into its holster, feeling a tad guilty for the paleness on Ludwig's face.

"Roma, surely you're not in this too?" Antonio pleaded. Feli looked at his brother; he could tell this was a hard question for him, no matter how much he denied it; Romano liked Antonio. He was one of the kindest friends he had ever had. Same with Ludwig; but the only way they could remain friends was if they were in the mafia too, and they wouldn't wish this life on them. On their worst enemy, oh hell yes, but on them? No.

"We aren't _in_ the mafia; we _are_ the Italian Mafia." Romano spat, turning away, cackling. Feli could see the underline of regret in the way he held himself, but that was only because he was his brother, his twin. They shared a body, after all, their mother's body. They would find the person who killed her; that's for certain.

"Hay! Found it boys, we can get out of here now!" Allister yelled. Allister held up a small red book, below him was a terrified and irritated Austrian man. Kiku held out a hand for it, obviously showing he was boss among the two Europeans. He flipped through it, tossing it to Feli and Romano. The authority of the Italian mafia was split between the two brothers. They crowded over the book, reading the information. It was a seemingly innocent list of names, addresses, phone numbers, longitude and latitude. But there was one thing, one name that enraged the two Italians. Hands shaking, they gave the book back to Kiku, who knowing what was going to happen, stepped back. In unison, the brothers drew their guns and pointed them at the Austrian, and in unison they pulled the trigger. Several people shook and muttered, crying, one yelled 'no' but of course that was useless. They took a calm breath, replaced their guns, and walked out of the hole in the wall. Francis whistled lowly, bowed, and followed with the rest of the group. Kiku stopped before leaving, turning back.

"Don't tell anyone our face, nor our names. Or we will find you, your family, and your work. And you two, the German and the Spaniard, we'll talk." He said over his shoulder, striking fear and anger in all of their hearts.

**Whatcha think? I made another story hurray! I saw some fan art of the Italia brothers being all mafia like and it inspired me. I hope ya'll like this! Review and such! I'm pretty sure this'll be a series. but it could just be a one shot... depending on my time and reviews, favs, follows, you know.**


	2. Chapter 2

Lovino twirled his fedora lazily, watching the Tyrrhenian Sea slip under their private boat, pondering what happened a week ago. His brother was asleep somewhere on the boat, having been on a drinking binge since they left the real world and got sucked back into the mafia. They had enjoyed that little respite, but now business was coming and it had smacked them upside the head. Killing the Austrian hadn't bothered them at all; they were used to putting people down. It was their friends. No, they weren't friends. They had to stop thinking about them like that. They couldn't afford to be emotional. They had to watch their back even more; no doubt one of their connections would use Ludwig and Antonio against them. Lovino groaned at how stupid they had gotten. He has to tell Feliciano to quit the innocent act so people wouldn't like him so much. _And speak of the idiot…_ Lovino thought as his brother stumbled around the deck, leaning against the hand railing. Lovino sat at a table next to the handrail, facing the gleaming waters. It was beautiful, the setting sun creating a fiery blaze across the rolling waves, gently lapping against the shiny wooden hull. Lovino took a sip of water from his glass, the condensation rolling off onto his hand. As Feliciano plopped down in the wicker chair next to him, groaning and rubbing his eyes, Lovino spoke,

"You know I'm the one who's supposed be drinking, right?"

"Shut up… make the sun go away… it's too bright…" Feli whined, only wearing a white button down and pants. Lovino flicked the water off his hands at his brother.

"Screw off. Go inside and sleep this off. I'm telling the waiters not to give you any more liquor." He muttered. He hated it when his brother went… and did something he would do. Like get blind drunk over a friend and when promptly hung over, tell him to make the sun go away. His brother just sat there, too fuzzy in the head to have made the connections and go do what Lovino told him. Sighing heavily, he stood, grabbed his brother, wrapping his arms around his chest and dragging him inside. This was why he didn't like drinking, not really; you were vulnerable to an attack. Sure, for the times when his conscious started to cripple him, it was good to wash it out. But still, the fact remains; he has to drag his brother to his own bed, throw him into it, and then fix him so his butt isn't in the air and his face crushed into a pillow. Lovino walked to the captain's perch, nodding at the captain to inform him of their progress.

"We'll be in Sicily in three hours." They had left from Rome two hours ago. Lovino sighed, looking at the luxuriously furnished center. This boat had every bell and whistle; some not even on the market. Weapons galore, defensive systems and escape protocols. The Italia brothers were very important people, you see. It could go 89 knots an hour, translating to mph, roughly 102 mph. Good for getting away, or going to get some one. Not only was it outfitted with everything a sailor and a criminal could dream of, it was also a beautiful water craft. It was shaped like a speed boat, given the horribly powerful motor. Granted, the captain's perch wasn't much to look at. So, descending a set of textured, steep steps to the deck, Lovino walked through a heavy brass and wood door to his right. It was engraved with artistry that could rival the J. A. C. Harrison. In the hallway, art work hung behind shiny panes of glass, to protect them against thievery, damage, and falling off the walls in violent seas. It was beautiful work; his brother was quite the artist. They made a small amount of their business selling prints of his work. Least to say, it gave him a good boost in self confidence.

Lovino wanted to start yelling, cussing, to break things; but he had to hold himself together. Nonno- Romulus had taught him the importance of reigning in your emotions. He rubbed his wrists in memory; of Romulus binding him until he stopped screaming and took out that rage on targets. Once, Romulus had to separate the two brothers because they had grown to hate each other so much; they were willing to kill each other. Over what; that was a buried memory that did not want to be revisited. That was why Lovino was better with the mafia than Feliciano. He was the silent one, the one who left the smallest impression. He worked in the shadows while Feli went and distracted them. It has more than paid off in the past.

Past the paintings, he found his room, next to the indoor stair well. There were six decks to this boat; three under the water line, three above. He moved through the white carpeted room, past his private kitchen, past his living room, and into his room. His entire chamber looked sterile, completely devoid of anything personal. Sure, there were some silver sculptures that went with the white and black color scheme, along with paintings of abstract black and bright color, curtsey of his brother, but other than that, you wouldn't find anything in here that would give you a clue to Lovino's mental state. He plopped down on his white leather couch, groaning. Looking at his counter, he saw a tomato. As he did a double take, he found it was an apple.

"Damnit…." He muttered. Stupid Antonio with his tomato's. He turned on some music, just relaxing to the sound of it. He had to forget that Spaniard. This usually wasn't so hard; he could just force himself to do it. _If someone won't get out of your head, maybe they're supposed to be there._ Antonio seemed to say. Lovino cursed angrily, deciding that relaxing wasn't going to make this go away. Grabbing his phone, he demanded he have his 'trainer' which meant having someone to beat the crap out of. He stripped his suit, replacing it with comfortable pants and a sleeveless shirt. He had a small hand gun nearby, just in case. Yup; he was the paranoid one. Going down a deck to the workout room, he found the slightly nervous man standing there, in a similar dress as he. This man was huge, but he had experience with Lovino's fighting; he knew size did not matter when it came to Lovino. First they stretched, all the while Lovino glaring daggers at the poor stressed out man. The room was mirrored, matted, and exercise equipment was strewn across the room, out of the way. A trusted member was present, just in case this man tried something and Lovino couldn't put him down. That trusted member was a Swiss by the name of Vash Zwingli, who was presently polishing a nice sniper rifle and eyeing the man with a hateful expression. Said man, having gotten done stretching was promptly attacked by a pissed off Italian. Punches flew and blood cells were damaged, resulting in ugly bruises. Skin was split, tendons creaked, and bodies hit the floor. Lovino was in the process of putting the man through a nice choke hold, his face throbbing with blood and pressure, when Feliciano made his presence known.

"_Vuoi mettere alla prova il mio metallo, fratello?_ (Want to test my metal, brother?)" Feliciano asked smugly, leaning against a white pillar. His arms were crossed, and a light smirk danced upon his lips. He loved the fact that not one of the Italian speaking crew members were in the room. Lovino frowned, let go of the man, and stood, shaking out his muscles.

"_Non ho bisogno di testare il vostro metallo, ho paura che ti sei fatto di carta stagnola e che si potrebbe strappare._" (I don't need to test your metal; I'm afraid that you're made of aluminum foil and that you might tear.) He sneered, a tad calmer after beating the crap out of that man. Said man crawled away, breathing heavily and leaning against the wall. Lovino leaned against another pillar, mirroring his brother. Feliciano straightened first, taking carful steps. Lovino rolled his eyes and rushed Feli, who readied himself. Though Lovino started it, Feliciano was the first to attack. His fist powered to land in Lovino's stomach, who blocked and threw a upper jab to the jaw. Feliciano cringed but replied in kind. Lovino lost his lead from there. He had been weakened from his earlier fight, so Feli took advantage. He elbowed Lovino's face, and while he was stunned, punched his stomach. He held his head down, repeatedly connecting his fist with his abdomen. Somehow, Lovi got out of the hold and kicked Feli's ankle. He yelped, but that was the only noise he made. He limped back, grinning at the cut on his brother's brow. Lovino launched himself at Feliciano, wrapping his arms around his torso, the two of them falling to the ground. Straddling his stomach, Lovino unleashed a multitude of punches. He wouldn't stop until his brother asked him to stop, and perhaps not even then.

"Oi, boss, quit killing your brother, you do need him, as far as I know." Vash suggested. Lovino paused for a second, breathing heavily. Looking through his mangled hair, he saw the blank expression on the Swiss. He had his rifle at the ready, but not in a threatening way. Standing, Lovino reached a hand down and picked his brother off the floor, who swayed for a moment before gaining his ground. He face was bleeding heavily, him barely able to see through the blood. Lovino led him away to their infirmary; he had to get his brother and himself back in tip top shape. True was the fact that it was stupid to go and beat the crap out of a man who needed to be able bodied just for the sake of doing it. Lovino was somewhat confident in their security, but still.

"You're still made a tin foil, fratello." Lovino whispered as he set Feli on the table. He groaned.

"I am not, and you know it. If it was anybody else, they would have been long unconscious."He spat, ripping the gauze out of Lovino's hands and mopping up his blood. Lovino held his hands up innocently, and addressed his own wounds. They sat in silence for a while.

"Your technique is better. Less strength and more speed. That's what Romulus told you were your problems." Lovino pointed out, wrapping his sore arms and bandaging his cuts.

"That's strange, did I hear you mention nonno?" Feliciano said with a droll stare.

"Shut up." Lovino snapped.

"It's strange, you're stronger than me yet I'm faster. Despite the fact we're both inhumanly fast." Feliciano commented, his mouth swelling.

"Yeah well, that's why we stick together. And the fact your cooking is good." Lovino mumbled. Suddenly, Vash ran in, holding a phone.

"Its for one of you two; its Kiku." He said, bored. He left the brother to the phone as they turned the phone onto speaker.

"_Ci_?" They asked in unison.

"_Kon'nichiwa, _Italia brothers. I have a proposition."

**Hello, hello, hello! I don't know honestly how to spell 'hello' in a English Japanese, so that is what Google gave me. Review, favorite, follow. WILL NOT be updated regularly unless it becomes a demand to my (if any) readers. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you all for reviewing and favorite-ing and what not! It occurred to me that I haven't quite established a time line in which this is happening in. I suppose it's now, but with some stuff from the 1920's (rough time period). Like their boat and phones and weapons would be in this time period, somewhere in 2013. **

Though his head was throbbing, his jaw ached, and everything was sore and pulsing with pain, Feliciano growled with frustration as his thick fingers stumbled with the bullets he was trying to load into the clip. Why was his brother so relentless when fighting him? Because he was vicious, like him. He didn't blame him though, especially after the beating he got after their first mission that their nonno had sent them on. He had shown mercy when he shouldn't, and now he was merciless. Lovino was taking care of his wounds, probably thinking about what Kiku had proposed; a business trade. He was going to meet them on Sicily to discuss it further, in case the line was tapped. They cast the occasional glance at each other, Lovino eventually standing and going to his room. Feliciano sighed in content; even though he loved his fratello, Feliciano didn't want to be around him at the moment. He missed the old times, when they were in their early teens, and his personality was that light fluffy act he now pulled. Lovino had told him to quit being so likable; he could see the logic in that, but he enjoyed visiting that memory. Ever since nonno…. Around that time, Lovino had hated. He just hated, everybody, everything. He was full of hate and fury. Feli wasn't much better off; he was confused, angered, sorrowful. He had fallen into an extreme depression. Surprisingly, when an assassination attempt was made on his life, he was jolted out of that dejection.

Feliciano finally filled the clip, rammed it into the handle, cocked back the slide, and filled the chamber with a lead bullet. Placing said gun in a holster, he hobbled to his room. His ankle hurt like a b***h. Feliciano's room was stylish, sleek. Unlike his brother's, it was adorned with art, living in dark tones. Dark leather furniture and a maple easel in the corner, a painting in progress.

Sitting in the stool, he gazed at his rendition of Salvador Dali's _Persistence of Memory_, a famous piece of melting clocks. He wanted to start fresh; something original. Drawing up a new canvas, he blindly shoved a random paint brush into a splotch of paint on his pallet and dabbed it on the stark white canvas. It was a red, painted by a thick bristled brush. He continued, adding colors and shapes, working everything off that red line. He eventually came up with something that looked like a white egret standing on a black branch, a black pinwheel wrapped around its neck, and a spear in its chest and that red line its dribble of blood. A light golden blue shown in the background with spider webbed colors. It was a beautiful, somewhat surreal piece. Feliciano studied it before leaving to dry.

Lying on his couch he turned on the TV, but not quite out of his creative juices. When he painted, or sketched, the pain and the weight of his world melted from his shoulders. As the TV droned on with the latest news Feli picked up a sketch book, started to flip through it, searching for an unfinished piece. He found an old one. It's a little thing of his, occasionally, to draw impossible creatures. Six limbed, ten eyed, spines galore, spiked, gushing fire of dripping with venom; he drew an occasional monster. This one little was a little too close to Lovino; it was just the way the eyes were held, glaring with a silent power. He could take his mind off this proposal Kiku had 'suggested'. He sighed, thinking about the Second World War. Then he thought of Germany. Then he thought of Ludwig.

Throwing down his sketch book he groaned, clutching his head as memories bombarded him, crashing and pounding in his skull. It was of their old job. He was a 'Representative' of an Italian shoe company; Lovino was the 'CEO' of that company. They were looking for that book, the one that had been on that Austrian. Of course, when Kiku, Allister and Francis barged in, guns a blazing, their cover had been blown. Francis was a very close family friend, but he wasn't in charge. He was an heir, if you will, to the entire French mob if the leader had been killed. The Scottish, French, Greek, American, British, Japanese, and Italian mafias were quite close.

Feliciano found himself laughing at the memory of Ludwig and him; he had spilt coffee all over the German, who was trying so hard not to yell at him while Feliciano had been laughing his face off and mumbling some playful insults in Italian. Ludwig had ended up sighing and going home with sticky coffee all over his chest. He then remembered a time when he, Antonio, Lovino, and Ludwig had all gone to lunch together. Antonio had seemed quite enamored with Lovino, while Ludwig seemed to not really know how to handle the eccentric Italian that was Feliciano. Feli had, of course, ordered pasta. They were at an Olive Garden. He remembered glancing at Lovino and catching his eye. Both sighed, putting their forks down in amusement. It was a thing they did to show how 'strong' their 'brotherly relationship' was. Every little thing they did was to create the perfect cover, even down to how they looked at each other.

"Italy has better Italian food." They said in unison. To say this had unnerved the Spaniard and German would be an understatement. They had shrugged and gone back to eating.

Why? Why couldn't he have just gone to culinary school like he wanted? Why did their nonno drag him into the mob? For a brief moment he could see why Lovino hated him so; Romulus hadn't given them any choice. It was join the mob, the family business, or he would have sent that explosive to the preschool. It was known by all who knew him; Romulus was either insane or crazy. They couldn't decide. He had been forced into the mafia, and he had resisted. Lovino had paid a price for his reluctance.

**Sorry it took so long for me to update! Not much happened in this chapter, but whatever. I know the sentence were Feli started thinking about WWII seems out of nowhere, but think about it, it's connected. Most of it was written with lack of sleep, so if some of it doesn't make sense, sorry. I am digging myself a nice big hole because I really don't know what would have been back enough (and it still being original and not to graphic) that would make Lovino and Feliciano hate each other so. **


	4. Chapter 4

Antonio glanced around desperately, his mouth wrapped tightly with dirty rag. His arms were bound above his head, the zip tie digging into his wrists. Above him, a rusty pipe prevented his escape. Ludwig hung unconscious behind him, a sock in his mouth and a blind fold wrapped around his eyes. Antonio hadn't been blindfolded. He had to watch as the German… was tormented. He knew he was next. His arms ached, and his blood seemed to pool in his hanging feet, searching for solid ground to rebound back up his legs. Ludwig had burns, scratches, and bruises all over his body. He had found something out about the German he didn't know before- he was ex-military. He hadn't said so in that many words, but when their captors had asked him who he was, mockingly of course because they knew them right down to their serial number, he had responded with a stony face,

"Ludwig Beilschimdt, serial number 046-5454473-567. Born January 5th, 1987. Ex-Federal Defense Force, Air force pilot."He got punched. They would ask him again, and he would say exactly the same thing with the same measured tone. When all he could do is mumble it through a swollen mouth, they had given up and left, letting him faint. Toni could see it now, the way he held himself so, why he always trained, why he seemed to know how everything worked and the way he would gaze at the sky with longing.

And Toni knew he was next. They were asking them questions about the Italia brothers, but they were asking him the wrong ones. They had been asking Ludwig about Lovino, demanding answers that Antonio knew. He laid his head on his chest; he had never been so scared in his life, even when Lovino had admitted he and his brother were in the mob. Wait, no. They _were_ the Italian mob. He shivered; Lovino had looked so cruel and cold, but he could see that saying that had bothered him. At least, he thought he did.

Their captors were quite strange, now that he thought about it. One had a strange accent, something he'd place in North America? He couldn't place it, because they had worn masks. The possible North American was awfully tall and intimidating, but considering his position, but he spoke so softly. He dealt the worst pain. The other was shorter, and Toni could have sworn he heard him cursing in Spanish- but he couldn't tell either, because that man didn't speak often.

As Antonio thought of his position, he grew more and more distressed, panic again filling him to capacity. He kicked out, trying to rub away the plastic of the zip tie on the granules of rust, despite the fact they tore into his skin. Blood ran down his arms from his wrists in thin rivulets. It hurt, but he had to get out, get Ludwig out, and make sure Lovino was okay. _Lovino doesn't need or want you. He never did._ Part of him said, the other roared in reply, fighting the cynical side tooth and nail. He kicked out, striking Ludwig. He swung limply from his arms. Antonio grunted into his rag, mumbling through the degusting fabric. He nudged Ludwig again, but nothing happened. He stopped for a moment, watching with hyper attention to his chest, to see if it was rising and falling like it should. He watched, ignoring the gore, but he couldn't tell. He blinked back tears at the prospect that Ludwig may have died, like _this_. He stopped his own breath, listening for a rattling gasp or a drawn out wheeze.

Nothing.

He swung harder, rubbing away the plastic. They were in some sort of cellar; there were no windows, just pipes, concrete and the dank smell of mold. After much pain and time, with a final tug he came free, falling about two feet to the floor. First thing he did was tear out his gag, gulping in huge breaths and checking his wrists. He had started to bleed heavily. Doing what he needed to do with the little material he had he wrapped his wrists tightly. They stung like you could not believe, but regardless. He shook out his limbs, them tingling with lack of circulation. Rest, he wanted rest. To sleep and relax his painfully sore back. Stumbling up, he cast a blurry glance at Ludwig, who was still not moving. Shaky hands pressed cold fingers to a sweaty neck, feeling for a pulse.

One… Two… he felt a very faint pulse, and looked at the coagulated puddle of blood. Ludwig would die soon if Antonio couldn't get him out. He tried smacking him awake, but again, Ludwig would not reply. A heavy metallic click sounded through the echoed halls, followed by the scrape of metal on metal. Toni snapped his head to the distant door, heart pounding. Without another glance, he turned and hid behind the boiler, knowing no escape. Moments later the tall lithe man and the short stocky man strode in, white masks speckled with blood. Immediately they noticed Antonio's absence. The smaller man let loose a frustrated growl before stomping on the remains of the zip tie.

"I knew we should have used cuffs, damnit! Ma-" The smaller man was instantaneously but off by a hand slamming its self on his face. The taller man glared down at the former, or what Antonio thought was a glare.

"I would silence yourself." The taller whispered. "He couldn't have gotten far- judging by the blood on the pipe and the ground." The taller kneeled down, wiping some of the blood on his fingers and bringing it to his mouth.

"Fresh." He muttered, spitting it out.

"_Arrastrarse_." The smaller hissed. Creep. No kidding, this guy was freaky.

"In fact, I would guess that our little Spaniard in here in this room." The taller mused, running a hand on top of the hood he wore. Toni saw a curl of blonde poke out, swirling by his jaw. Terror gripped him as he curled tighter to the silver of the boiler, ignoring the heat.

"How do we find him then?" The slighter groused. The blonde rose and tapped this side of his plastic white nose.

"Little thing thought he bandaged his wrists enough." The blonde chuckled softly.

**I know I was late, but here is another chapter! I hope it pleases you! I don't really have much to say other than things are getting quite hairy for Ludwig and Antonio. As you probably got. Review, tell me what ya think- plot idea's, general information, whatever, as long as it isn't FIRE! HEHEHEHE .=.**


	5. Chapter 5

Fear is a strong thing. It is a motivator, a depressant. It can get you to do things you never thought possible and can lock you up so much you couldn't even do what was possible before. _But_, fear is a decision, a choice, but it is a hard one, an impossible one. You have to be in control of your mind and body to deny fear and nobody can completely do that, not one hundred percent of the time. So when your shoulders are roughly grabbed and yanked out of a cramped hiding place, fear is with you. It is always with you, but some of the time, it chooses not to scream in your ear but instead, whisper. Right now, it was deafening. He was dragged, kicking and whimpering, out by the shorter man, and thrown on his own trail of blood. Before he could recover, his head was retched upward, looking into black pits of the ashen, expressionless disguise. The hood cast steep angle's and sharp shadows, playing with the nightmares in the corners of his exhausted mind. He had been thrown in a van on his way home from work; he had been so deep in thought that he didn't notice the white van trailing him. They had brought Ludwig separately.

"Tsk, tsk, little creature thought he could get away." The man hummed. "I suppose we'll have to fix that, shall we?"

"I swear; I didn't know Lovi was in the mafia! I just found out a week ago!" Antonio cried, trying to heave his head away from the callused hands. They tightened.

"I don't believe you." The man stated stonily. Never more than in this moment had Antonio wanted to be believed. Not even when his mother had thought he had done drugs when he was seventeen (which he didn't), or when he told his _fútbol_ (soccer) coach that he couldn't practice because of a hurt ankle. His couch had made him play on it anyway. It was broken in three places; it ended his career before it began.

"Please." Antonio said, shocked by how much of his desperation leaked into his voice. He could imagine the grin growing across the man's face as he pulled out a gun. Antonio threw himself away, sobbing, crab walking backwards. He slammed into the concrete wall. He had nowhere to go- the smaller but thicker man was to his left and the taller one was right in front of them. And behind them… was an open door. Eyes darting to it and then them, he picked himself up and rushed the door, panting. Two bangs went off and two agonies filled him. He fell to the ground, weeping into the ground before looking down. His knee caps were ruined; blown to bits. He screamed at the pain, mumbling through the tears. The short man grabbed him by his long hair and dragged him back to the center of the floor, ignoring the large streak of red that followed him. Weakly Toni fought, but to no avail; all his concentration was trying on not to concentrate on the pain, and puke. The man threw him down, giving him a couple nice kicks before backing off.

"Now, little captive, we must not tell lies. We know you knew Lovino Vargas earlier than that." The North American murmured, crouching next to the bleeding mess. He had out his gun. Toni's vision blurred as the smell of his own blood filled his nostrils.

"We're losing him." The shorter man said.

"Then heal him." The other said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. It was a blur of everything; Antonio felt himself be jostled by hands and bit back screams when they touched anywhere on his legs- his entire nervous system was on fire.

"L…Lu…L-Ludwig-g…too…" Antonio moaned, fighting at the blackness seeping his gaze.

"He's of no use to us anymore." The shorter snapped.

"Now, friend," The taller said in warning, "we could still use him to get to Lovino. Or his stupid little brother, Feliciano."

"W-Wh…what?" Toni whispered deliriously.

"Oh, dear me, you _don't_ know how important Lovino is, do you? What a shame, what a shame. I guess we'll just have to kill him instead. Maybe some nice long torture beforehand. If you all had helped us, we wouldn't have to resort to this…" The man taunted. In his muddled state of mind, Toni spoke out.

And he faded to black.

**Again, a painfully short chapter. I had written it longer, but I don't like how it flows together. So, here it is. Review, I am open to suggestions, blah, blah, blah. **

**Sorry if i missed stuff- i didn't really look at it. **


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